


Never Always

by spikesgirl58



Category: Man from Uncle - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 04:25:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Napoleon suddenly comes face-to-face with the man who abused him as a child, Napoleon discovers what love and friendship are all about.  This was written as a birthday request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yelizaveta](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Yelizaveta).



 

Seeing Conway Roth after all this time made Napoleon weak in his knees.  It was a lifetime ago that Napoleon had last seen the man.  He’d almost convinced himself it was just a bad dream.  Now the evidence was standing less than five feet from him and Napoleon was eight years old again.

 

                                                                                                ****

 

Napoleon was sitting on a tree stump, staring off into space and finishing his lunch.  It was almost time for summer.  Another few weeks of school and he would be free for three glorious months.  Even now their lessons were winding down.  The topics being taught were most abstract, like working with math as it applied to money or time. Napoleon enjoyed math, but he was more fascinated with history.

 

A shadow fell over him and he squinted up at it.

 

“Napoleon, why aren’t you playing with the other boys?”  Napoleon recognized the voice of his math teacher, Mr. Roth.

 

“I don’t care much for baseball.”  That was a lie.  Napoleon loved baseball; he just wasn’t any good at it.  Dad was too busy working and his sister, well, no offense, but she threw like a girl.  So when the teams were formed, he was either the last choice or they just overlooked him.  It only took a couple of times for Napoleon to get the message.

 

“That’s not an attitude for a young man.”  Mr. Roth sat down beside him and offered Napoleon some of his potato chips.  This was a rare treat.  They could afford them, but Mom thought they were bad for him.

 

“It’s the one that has been foisted upon me.”  Napoleon had just learned that word last night from his grandfather and fell in love with it.

 

“Foisted, eh?  You are a very special young man, Napoleon.”

 

Napoleon grinned at the comment.  There would be more to follow over the next week as Mr. Roth began to join him more and more.  Napoleon felt a little weird about it.  He liked Mr. Roth and all, but something struck him wrong.  So much so that he approached his mother.

 

“Mom?”

 

She was busy weeding the flower bed.  She sat back on her heels and took the glass of lemonade Napoleon was holding out to her.  “Yes, sweetheart?”

 

“What’s it mean when an adult starts talkin’ to a kid like he’s all grownup?”

 

“The word is talking, Napoleon.  People will judge you by how you speak.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Well, is this adult someone you respect and like?”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

“Then I think it means you are growing up and this person thinks enough about you to treat you as an equal.”

 

“So it’s okay?”

 

She patted his cheek and he smelled the earth loam on her gloves.  “I think it is very okay.”

 

Thus assured, Napoleon grinned and headed for school.

 

It was a free day.  Their lessons were done and recess was extended through the afternoon.  Kids were wound up tighter than a spring and raced around to work off energy.  All except Napoleon.  He’d agreed to help Mr. Roth clean out a storage room.

 

“I can’t quite reach the top shelf,” Napoleon said.  He would replay that sentence in his head again and again.  If he hadn’t said that, maybe Mr. Roth would not have done what he did.

 

“Let me boost you up.”  Mr. Roth helped Napoleon climb up the shelves as if they were a ladder.

 

Napoleon gasped as Mr. Roth began to fondle his backside through Napoleon’s pants.  “Mr. Roth, what are you doing?”

 

“Getting a better grip.”  Then he added softly, “Do you like what I’m doing, Napoleon?”

 

As a matter of fact he did and nodded, but at the same time, being touched liked that gave Napoleon a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.  

 

Napoleon had crawled into his room that night, late and ashamed.  Mr. Roth had done terrible things to him that afternoon then he brought Napoleon home and gave his parents a song and dance.  They, of course, believed Mr. Roth, just as he’d said.

 

“You tell one person about this, Napoleon, and I will hurt you more than you can ever imagine.  Not just you.  I’ll hurt your sister, too,” Mr. Roth has whispered as he half-dragged Napoleon up onto his own front porch.  The fingers had dug into Napoleon’s arm and he whimpered, just one more pain to add to his misery.

 

                                                                                ****

 

 He’d never said a word to his parents, but after that night, he refused to let his mother see him naked.  At first it was to hide the bruises, later it was the shame.  Three more times, Mr. Roth trapped him at school and forced him to do things Napoleon had never even thought about prior to this.

 

Then school was out and he was free.  He heard Mr. Roth calling to him as Napoleon exited the school and Napoleon took off, heading for the woods.  He knew all the best spots for hiding and he wasn’t about to let anything else happen.

 

All that summer, Napoleon spent time in the woods or by the stream, always on alert, lest the crafty teacher sneak up on him again.  Napoleon was determined that wouldn’t happen again.  He’d tried to be a good person but he was being punished.  Napoleon didn’t know why, but he was determined to keep it from happening again.  As the end of the summer approached, the guilt and self-loathing made him physically ill.

 

He came down to the kitchen table, no longer the eager student.  There were bags under his eyes and it was all he could do to keep from crying.  He looked over at his little sister, swinging her legs and playing with her doll instead of eating her cereal.

 

“Put the doll away, Josie,” their father said softly.  Dad never raised his voice.  “So are you excited about the new school year?”

 

“Yes, sir.”  Napoleon pulled the crust off his toast and set it aside.  He hated the crust.  He’d eat it last.

 

“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic, Napoleon.”  His mother set down a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.  “I know that you will miss Mr. Roth, but I’m sure your new math teacher will better.”

 

Dad muttered something under his breath.  Napoleon couldn’t really make out the words.  His parents exchanged looks then his father returned to the morning paper.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Mr. Roth was relocated to another… institution this summer.  Your new math teacher will be Mrs. Chase.  In fact, all your teachers are women this year.“

 

“Really?”  Napoleon suddenly felt a weight off his shoulders.

 

“That perked you right up.”

 

“I like women!” Napoleon said and dove into his eggs with a renewed appetite.

 

“Spoken like a true Solo.”  His father nodded.  “I told you he was okay.”

 

                                                                                 ****

 

Napoleon shuddered in the Lisbon heat.  He’d finished school, gone to war and to college and never divulged his secret.  He dated like a man possessed, but the women he took out were a poor substitute to what he wanted.  The problem was Napoleon didn’t know what he wanted.  The few men he’d approached or who’d approached him had sent him spiraling back into horrific nightmares of that bastard Roth.

 

All until he’d been assigned a new partner.  Illya had been a breath of fresh air in Napoleon’s stifling world.  He was smart, funny, when he wanted to be, and somber when the time demanded it.  More than that was the sense of trust that Napoleon felt almost from their first minutes together. How could Napoleon tell his trusting, devoted heterosexual partner that he, Napoleon Solo, had a crush on him?

 

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with Illya.  It just sort of happened and one day Napoleon woke to the realization that there was no one else he wanted to be with besides Illya.  Napoleon still dated, but it was all for show.  Waverly knew of Napoleon’s past.  He’d never have allowed Napoleon to ascend to the top of Section Two otherwise.  However, like Napoleon, Waverly kept it quiet.  Not even Illya had a inkling that Napoleon was closeted.  He wasn’t about to lose Illya’s friendship for it either. 

 

Instead, he watched Illya date, envying the women hanging on Illya’s arm.  He would go home and masturbate, his eyes closed, imagining it was Illya’s hand that caressed and stroked him.  Sometimes a fantasy was all you had and Napoleon contented himself with that.

 

“Napoleon?”  Illya was waving a hand in front of his face, his blue eyes wide with amusement.  

 

“Oh, sorry.”  Napoleon looked up as their coffee arrived. Napoleon was relieved to see that Roth had vanished.  The waiter poured and left.  Napoleon tried to keep his hand from shaking as he lifted his cup but Illya noticed the slight tremor.

 

“What’s wrong, Napoleon?  You’ve been very quiet since we sat down.”

 

“It’s just… nothing.”  Napoleon stood and tossed his napkin onto the table.  “I left my communicator in the room.  I’ll be right back.”

 

He practically ran from the _café_ into the adjacent hotel.  He got into the creaky elevator and used the ride up to their floor to compose himself.  Illya would demand an explanation.

 

He stepped out, his key in hand, and turned right, pausing as he heard.

 

“Napoleon?”  Napoleon turned and gazed into the eyes of the predator who had abused him so many years previously. 

 

A trained killer, a world traveler, dangerous, competent, and intelligent and Napoleon suddenly felt a  ball of terror grow in his stomach.  They were in a hallway, too public for anything to happen.

 

Time hadn’t done the man any favors, but it hadn’t altered the eyes and mouth.  “Look at you.”  The eyes flicked down to Napoleon’s groin.  “All grown up.”

 

“Get away from me, Roth.”  Napoleon kept a dangerous edge to his voice.

 

“How’s that sister of yours?”

 

“It won’t work now.  You have no idea who I am.”  Napoleon felt the wall at his back.  It would be so easy to draw his weapon and remove this scum once and for all.  So, why didn’t he?

 

“You were a weak, sniveling little boy who I made into a man.  Oh, Mr. Roth, it hurts, it hurts and you loved every minute of it.  You begged for it.”  Roth got closer and Napoleon shuddered at the smell of the man’s breath, as rank as it had been when Roth had first kissed him.  “Were you the one who told on me, Napoleon?  The facility they sent me to wasn’t pleasant.  It also wasn’t very secure, but when I came looking for you, you were gone.”  The smile was pure predator.  “And now here we are, you and me. Just the two of us… and a hotel room.  How very convenient.  We can pick up right where we left off.”

 

“Actually, no, he can’t.  He’s with me, you see.”

 

Roth spun and Illya sent out a right cross that dropped the man.  With a cry, Roth half crawled, half scrabbled away to the opposite wall.

 

“It’s not what you think,” Roth whimpered, holding his mouth.

 

“Oh, I can very much assure you of that.  Are you okay, Napoleon?”

 

“Fine, partner, thank you.”  Napoleon wiped the sweat from his face and sighed.  “Just some unfinished business from a long time ago.”

 

“I suspected as much.”  Illya drew his gun and aimed it at Roth’s head.  “Should we kill him outright or just make a point.”  The gun dropped point at Roth’s groin.

 

“No!” The man shrieked.  A tourist took that moment to come out of her room.  Roth grabbed her and threw her at Napoleon and Illya, then took off at a dead run.

 

Napoleon took a step in pursuit while Illya helped the woman recover herself.  “Don’t bother, Napoleon.  all the exits are covered.  US authorities have been after him for a while.  I’m sure the government won’t have any trouble sending Roth back to face his crimes.”

 

Illya led the way to their room and let Napoleon precede him in.  He closed and locked the door as Napoleon went to sit on the end of his unmade bed.

 

“I think we need to talk.”  Illya sat down beside Napoleon and rested his elbows on his knees.  “I know this man is a sexual predator.  How does he fit into your life?”

 

“He… I think… I hope… I was his first victim.  I’d hate to think there were others before me.”  Napoleon drew a shaky breath and nearly gasped as Illya took Napoleon’s hand in his.

 

“Talk to me, Napoleon.  All you say will be safe with me.”

 

The story tumbled out of Napoleon.  It had been so long it surprised him how many details were so fresh and immediate.  He talked until his throat was dry and he felt wrung out.  Never once did Illya interrupt.  Only the pressure on Napoleon’s hand varied.

 

“And you’ve kept this to yourself since then?  Is that why you’ve never made a pass at me?”

 

“What?  No!  I didn’t… think you’d be interested.”

 

“Very interested, but I also don’t push.  When I didn’t get any signals from you, I decided your interests  lay elsewhere.”

 

Napoleon squeezed the hand holding his gently.  “Never anywhere else.  Who would have me?”

 

Illya tapped his chest with his free hand.  “In a heartbeat.”  He leaned forward and Napoleon hesitated for just a moment before meeting Illya’s lips with his own.  Napoleon rejoiced at the smell and taste that was distinctly Illya’s.  “If you want me to stop or if I am making you uncomfortable, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

 

“Never.”

                                               

                                                                                ****

Napoleon rolled over and stretched out his arm.  He was alone in bed.  For a moment, all of the horrible memories cascaded back on him.  He’d been used and discarded, just like the last time he’d opened his heart.  He sat up and pounded the mattress with his hand out of frustration.  When was he going to learn?

 

Then the bathroom door opened and Illya stepped out.  He was fresh from a shower and his hair stuck out at crazy angles.

 

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to wake you.”

 

“Were you out?”  Napoleon realized that Illya’s coat and gun had been moved from the floor where his clothes were still heaped.

 

“Had some business to take care of.  You were sleeping so soundly when I got back, I decided to risk a shower.”  Illya tossed the towel aside, not bothering to hide his nudity from Napoleon.

 

“I’m glad you did wake me.  That’s a good sight to wake to.”

 

Illya laughed and rejoined Napoleon in the bed.  “I talked with Waverly.  We have to be at the airport in three hours.  Just enough time.”

 

“Just enough time for what?”

 

Illya brushed Napoleon’s hair back.  “To show you just exactly how privileged I feel to be here with you like this.”

 

This time is was Napoleon’s turn to laugh, at least until his mouth was too busy doing other things.

 

                                                                                                *****

 

At the last minute, Napoleon bought a newspaper at the stand and hurried to follow Illya onto the plane.  He flirted with the ticket taker, the stewardess, a fellow passenger, all the while exuding the confidence and comfort of a very secure man.

 

Illya found his seat, sat, and dug a book from his briefcase before kicking it under the seat in front of him.

 

After a few moments, Napoleon joined him and settled into his seat.  He opened the paper and the world grew very quiet.  The news article report how an American ex-pat had been found dead in an alleyway after having been removed from a prison cell.  He’s been beaten and then shot several times.  At the moment, there were no leads or clues as to the person responsible.

 

It had struck Napoleon as odd that Illya had cleaned his gun before they left for the airport.  They were demons about keeping their weapons clean, but they hadn’t used them on this trip.  Illya had muttered that it was just something to help him pass the time, but they were nearly late.

 

Napoleon reached over and ran his thumb over the back of Illya’s hand.  The knuckles were bruised and skinned.  Illya glanced up from his book and then down. 

 

“What happened?”  Napoleon asked softly.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Illya…” 

 

Illya shook his head.  “What’s that saying?  Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies?  What is past is now past.”  Illya slid his hand from the armrest.    “And we always take care of our own.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
